


A Coach Who Really Cares

by Lusciousinpain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Balm as lube, Blowjobs, Bottom Dean, Coach Castiel, Fingering, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, PWP, Rimming, Runner dean, Student Dean, Teacher Castiel, Top Castiel, Underage Dean, slight angst with a very happy ending, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-16 17:29:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15442182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lusciousinpain/pseuds/Lusciousinpain
Summary: He grabs a jar, walks back to the couch, braces a knee on the cushion's edge, and feels utterly lost; being alone with Dean is not a good idea. It's Castiel's worst nightmare, as a matter of fact; no other student has ever had this effect on him. Sure, he's constantly surrounded by gorgeous boys and hard bodies, but none have ever turned Castiel's head before. Not one. Until Dean.





	A Coach Who Really Cares

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a huge fan of Teacher/Student porn. It's soooo taboo and always ripe with tension, it's dangerous and wrong, and dirty, but also sexy and romantic. 
> 
> I've been wanting to write this interpretation for a while now. So I put aside the next installment of my 'Hot Spies In Love' series, to type this bit of porn down. Hope you like it.

Dean drops his bag, reads the nameplate on the dark wooden door, and swallows. 

_Coach Castiel Novak_

"Well, I really did it this time." He mutters, nervous and with good reason; he's been skating on thin ice all season, but now, with an injury like this, he'll definitely get kicked off the team. Coach Novak will make certain of it; he can barely stand to look at Dean, on the best of days.

But Dean doesn't blame him, Coach Novak has a stellar reputation to protect (star athlete, lauded coach, popular teacher) and it's not like he's about to let some piss-poor runner ruin it. That's why Dean hesitates, that's why he's...scared, because aside from being a living legend in their small town, coach Novak is also arrogant, demanding of his students, excessive in his expectations, and sadly for Dean, the man he's secretly pined for since his family moved here, over a year ago. 

"N'ah, screw this." Disappointing his teammates and angering their coach, is Dean's worst nightmare. So he turns tale and starts hobbling away, but then the door swings open. 

"Dean, why are you limping?" Coach Novak rushes to his student's side, takes him by the elbow and guides him into his office. "Sit." He orders, helping Dean to the unsightly, but large and comfortable, couch in the corner.

He eases Dean down and looks him over, the boy is flushed, but alert, and still the most beautiful creature Castiel has ever had the great misfortune of gazing upon. "What happened?"

Dean's cheeks flare crimson; he can't believe he got hurt. 

"Dean?" 

"I..." Dean drops his head, humiliated. "...I tripped." He scoots further up the seat and winces. 

Castiel is on him in an instant. He grabs Dean's arm, and helps him get comfortable. "Tripped?"

Dean nods, arm still tingling where coach touched him. "After practice, I...well, I kept practicing."

"By yourself?"

"Yeah." Dean admits, bracing himself for the reprimand he knows is coming. But nothing happens, so he plows on, "I know we're not supposed to practice without a partner, and that you told us all to shower up and go home. But we lost last week's meet because of me." Dean shakes his head, recalls those last painful seconds, how he was in the lead, but instead of focusing on the finish line, caught sight of coach Novak and his assistant, coach Balthazar, by the stands, noted how they leaned against each other, how intimately Balthazar ran his hand up and down coach Novak's back, and well, needless to say, Dean lost. "I'm not letting that happen again."

Castiel can't believe his ears; if anything, Dean is the reason they managed to qualify for the next round, in the first place. "You're wrong." He says, reaching out to squeeze Dean's shoulder, it's like touching fire, but he leaves his hand there and adds, "It was my fault. I shouldn't have pushed you to do that last race. You had already won the other two. I should have known-"

"Whoa." Dean covers the coach's hand with his own, argues, "Don't. I wanted to. You made the right call. You're an awesome coach, coach."

"I..." Castiel can't seem to get enough oxygen. He exhales a heavy breath, "...thank you, Dean." He says, then drops his eyes. But not his hand. He starts kneading the firm muscle of the teen's shoulder, instead, and wills himself to relax.

Dean shrugs, swipes his tongue across dry lips, mumbles, "Sure." Because what else can he say? He's got no idea what coach is thanking him for, but hey, Dean will agree to anything as long as the older man doesn't take his hand away. 

He presses into the touch, points at his leg, adds, "Anyway, _this_ , was all my fault. I wanted to run through a couple of maneuvers, you know, jumping hurdles, sprinting, all of the stuff you wanted me to improve on before next week's meet."

"Dean," Castiel feels even guiltier, now, "I should have been the one to guide you through those exercises." He places his free hand on top of Dean's, stresses, "You wouldn't have injured yourself if-"

"N'ah, I was doing fine." Dean gently extracts his hand from between the older man's grip; the weight and heat coming from coach's hands is giving him a boner, and Dean doesn't think he could stomach the look of disgust in coach's eyes if he were to find out about Dean's massive crush on him.

"I fell because my foot got caught on...something," Dean explains, voice wavering, "I think maybe it was a hole in the grass, and," he chuckles, but there's no humor in it, "ta-da, I went down on my side." He snorts, "Hard."

Castiel looks absolutely livid, and of course, Dean believes he's the cause. "It seems I'm going to have to have a very serious conversation with the groundskeeper about the proper maintenance of my track." 

Dean exhales, relieved he's not the reason behind coach's ire. At least not this time. He relaxes, sinks into the cushions and shifts his weight, but the slight movement pulls at his groin, and he cries out. 

"Where does it hurt?" Castiel asks, genuinely worried. 

"It's no big deal-"

"Where!"

"Around here." Dean grits, pointing at his pelvis. 

Castiel goes straight to the office's medicine cabinet, asks, "Can you pinpoint it?" He would normally send an injured student to the nurse's office, but it's after hours, and they're more than likely the only two people left on campus, so it's up to him to make sure Dean is well enough to go home, or sufficiently injured to go to the hospital.

He grabs a jar, walks back to the couch, braces a knee on the cushion's edge, and feels utterly lost; being alone with Dean is not a good idea. It's Castiel's worst nightmare, as a matter of fact; no other student has ever had this effect on him. Sure, he's constantly surrounded by gorgeous boys and hard bodies, but none have ever turned Castiel's head before. Not one. Until Dean.

Dean notes the tense line of coach's shoulders, and moves to leave, but collapses with a grunt. 

"Dean!" Castiel snaps, chastising himself for his lack of professionalism, for his selfishness. But he can't help it - this greedy need to be with Dean - it's all consuming. "Show me where it hurts." He demands to know, cold, curt, scooping several fingers worth of the thick, fragrant, balm, while keeping his expression blank. "Well?" 

"Actually..." Dean sighs, reading the coach's sour demeanor; it's obvious he'd rather be anywhere else than with Dean. "I'm better now." Dean tries to rise again, then cringes, and plops gracelessly back down. He's so fucking sore. 

"Damn it, Dean, stop being so stubborn!" Castiel lays a hand on Dean's shoulder again, it's weight grounding him. "You may leave when I say you can." 

"Yeah, but-"

"But nothing. Now point out exactly where the pain starts."

Dean sighs, defeated, "Right around here." He lifts his shirt, points at his hip, thigh, knee, looks back up, breath catching when he notices the dark hungry look in coach's eyes.

Castiel licks his lips and swallows, cock thickening when he catches sight of pale flesh and a flat stomach. "Can you be more specific?" He asks, voice a dry rasp. 

"Ah," The pain is a deep, thrumming, ache, that spans from knee to hip, but mostly bothers Dean's inner thigh, "...here." He says, heart thudding heavily in his chest. He traces a finger from knee to hip, then blushes deeply when his finger settles right below his balls; he might just die from embarrassment. "But I swear," Dean insists, the sound of his voice reedy in his own ears, almost panicked, "I really do feel better." And to prove it, Dean pivots on the couch, moves as if to stand again, but instead, cries out in pain. 

Castiel has seen enough. "I said stay!" He ignores the fact that he will have to work precariously close to Dean's privates, and steels himself for the task at hand. "It sounds like you've pulled a muscle. I'm going to rub some of this balm on you. It should help." 

He lifts Dean's t-shirt with one hand, holds it, and applies the balm with the other. But it's awkward at best, the ointment is getting all over the teen's clothes. "Take off your shirt."

Dean gulps, unsure if he's capable of following this specific order; he's impossibly aroused, and with his shirt off, coach is liable to see just how much. But there's no denying the warning behind coach's blue eyes, so he pulls off his shirt, and hopes the tent in his shorts, goes unnoticed. 

"Let me know if this hurts." Castiel says, mercifully ignoring the obvious bulge, and proceeds to apply the balm in gentle, but firm, circles.

"Mmmm..." Dean hums, because it feels fucking great. His head falls back and his legs spread further apart, the new angle highlights his growing erection and ignites a fire in Castiel.

"Hh...how about...here?" Castiel pants, short of breath, licking his lips and ogling the boy's crotch; it's all he can do to keep from dropping down on all fours and begging for a taste. But he controls himself, takes a deep breath, and dips his fingers beneath Dean's waistband (the teen's skin is hot, soft) but then he freezes when Dean gasps. "Did that hurt?" Castiel asks, pulling his hand back as if burned.

Dean nods, but not because it hurt. "I...I'm good...now." He lies, scrambling to get up. He's got to get out of there, stat, or risk whipping his dick out and begging coach Novak to fuck him. "Thanks-"

"Sit."

Dean reluctantly obeys, and hopes he gets through this without further embarrassing himself.

"Did that really hurt?" Castiel asks, brow cocked, reaching for the lid in case this is over. "I can drive you to the hospit-"

"No!" 

"Dean if you're in serious pain we-"

Dean shakes his head, "No, I mean, the balm is really working. I don't need to go to the hospital."

Castiel nods, not fully convinced, but nevertheless nudges Dean's shorts lower, rubs balm over the warm supple flesh of his abdomen, and does his best to help the boy recover. He works with great care, but despite his best efforts to keep the ointment off the teen's clothes, they still get soiled. "The balm is getting on your shorts." Castiel tells him, hand trembling slightly. "Take them off." 

Dean is going to cream his shorts, he just knows it: coach's words, the sound of his voice, his strong hands on his body, are all more than enough to get Dean off. But it's the the large bulge in coach's pants (its girth is massive, obscene, and the hottest thing Dean has ever seen) that has him second guessing just how much coach really cares about him. "Take my shorts off...too?"

Castiel nods, but quickly amends the order. "I only meant...well, the balm will stain your clothes." It's a ridiculous excuse, and he knows it, but thankfully, Dean doesn't argue.

Castiel climbs off the couch (it puts some much needed distance between himself and Dean) gets on his knees, and focuses on the jar's label. "Oh..." He gasps, heart galloping when he looks back up and gets an unobstructed view of the teen's undeniable erection - it's outline is perfectly visible through the thin cotton of his briefs.

Dean drops his head, mortified, and closes his legs. "Ah..." He's completely hard, and the cotton of his underwear (stretched and damp in places) is doing him no favors, "young boys and their hormones, huh." It's lame, but it's also mostly true. These days it doesn't take much to get Dean hard, especially if he's thinking about, looking at, or in the same room as, coach Novak. 

Castiel smiles back, it's strained, but the last thing he wants is for Dean to feel ashamed or embarrassed. "Your reaction is perfectly natural." He offers kindly, because it's true. Although, if he were to stop and seriously rethink the boy's reactions, he could conclude that Dean's arousal is due to him.

Castiel laughs inwardly; there's no way someone as talented, attractive, and young as Dean, would ever want him. He's an idiot for even contemplating it. 

"How does this feel?" He asks after a beat, applying pressure from hip to thigh in long, powerful, strokes, pausing to cup the boy's knee, then massaging the joint.

"Awesome..." Dean sighs, pain ebbing, he presses into the cushions, closes his eyes, and becomes so relaxed, his legs fall open again. 

Castiel has to bite back a moan; Dean's balls have slipped past his underwear and are now fully visible where thigh meets groin. But it's the teen's dick (tip beaded with pre-cum) poking invitingly over the elastic band, that makes his mouth water and his cock grow heavier. For an insane second, Castiel imagines himself crawling between Dean's legs, and begging to let him suck his dick. But he wisely takes several deep breaths instead, and when he feels sane enough to continue, readjusts himself (his cock is so hard it actually hurts) and goes back to massaging the large muscle of Dean's thigh. 

He finds the knot that's caused Dean so much discomfort and intensifies the pressure, quickly loosening it. "This should stop the spams." He says, fully focused on his work, because the sooner he helps Dean get past his pain, the sooner they can both go home, and Castiel can masturbate in peace. 

He works like this for another minute or two, concentrating on Dean's thigh, but then his hand skims past the teen's erection - his fingers brush, feather light, over the tip - and Dean's sweet, happy, little moans, morph into short, breathless, pants. 

"I'm..." Castiel too, is quite breathless, "...the balm is getting all over your...briefs, as well." 

"I'll take them off." Dean promptly volunteers, lifting his ass, and peeling them off. When his dick springs free, thick and long, it lays like I heavy weight on his flat stomach. 

"Ready..." Castiel exhales, breathy, husky, valiantly fighting his urges, and resuming his ministrations. But it's all for naught, because only seconds later the gentle pressure from his fingers, escalates into a full blown erotic massage; there's nothing cold or clinical about the way his hands slip and slide over sinew and muscle. 

Dean whimpers and writhes through it all; he can't believe this is happening to him. Sure, at sixteen Dean's barely had any real sexual experience, but he's not completely clueless. He knows what he likes to do (fucking himself with his own fingers) and what he'd like to have done to him (sucked-off, eaten out, then fucked by an older, more experienced partner). Like coach Novak. But this? This is a whole new level of _want_.

"Fuck-" he grits, frustrated when Castiel's hands knead and rub at his hip, around his abdomen, down his thighs, but leave his dick untouched. So he goes for broke (because Dean wants more, he wants it all) and scoots lower. And with his ass hanging over the couch's edge, and his dick standing rigid, Dean locks eyes with Castiel, and begs, "...please..." 

Castiel freezes, whispers, "Are you certain?" And when Dean nods, the older man wraps his talented fingers around Dean's dick and starts stroking him. 

Dean moans, pumps his hips, slow at first, then faster and faster, fucks coach's fist. "Ungh-" he gasps, because it can't get any better than this. But then Castiel teases his hole, tap, tap, tapping against the sensitive flesh, and Dean stops breathing, tenses, because this is it, they're really going to fuck.

"Shhh..." Castiel soothes, and Dean relaxes, "I won't hurt you." He promises, fist stroking sweet little sounds from the boy. "But I'll stop if-"

"Don't you dare." Dean croaks, scooting lower, spreading his legs wider, and crying out when Castiel inserts the first digit. He hisses, bites his lip, but he quickly adjusts, and soon wants more. 

Castiel adds a second finger, asks, "Is this...okay?" And when Dean nods, he pulses both in and out, pumping in time with the boy's rhythm, stretching his hole. Castiel fumbles for his own zipper and pulls out his cock, it's hot and heavy in his grip, "...Dean.." He gasps, he can barely catch his breath, "Tell me...stop-"

Dean shakes his head, "No-" pleads, "Want, want more-" And Castiel quickly inserts a third finger, Dean's body resists at first, but then Castiel dives forward, takes Dean's dick into his mouth, and the boy cries out again, grabs handfuls of Castiel's hair, holds his head where he wants it, and begins thrusting, fucking his mouth, grunting each time his dick hits the back of coach's throat. 

And Castiel takes it, loves it, can never get enough of it. He sucks and sucks, laps at the tip, inserts a fourth finger and fucks Dean's hole, drives the boy to the brink. 

It's more than Dean can take. 

He grunts a warning, he's about to cum, and tries to pull Castiel off, but he can't. "Coach-" he chokes, but Castiel holds on, swallows, throat clenching around Dean's dick, and Dean keens, cries out Castiel's name (pelvis thrusting at a furious pace) and cums, groaning while Castiel milks every delicious drop from his dick.

... 

"Fuck-" Dean collapses, limbs like jelly, "That was..." But he's at a loss for words. He'll never be the same again. Sex will never be the same again. It will never be this good.

"No," Castiel supplies, pleased Dean enjoyed it, "it gets better." 

"Heh, I didn't mean to say any of that stuff out loud." Dean huffs, runs a shaky hand through his hair. "But, yeah...it was pretty awesome."

Castiel falls back on his haunches, and Dean's eyes grow large; Coach's cock is huge, a thick rigid length that's ready to fuck.

"You, ah," Dean swallows, licks his lips, feels himself grow hard again, "need a, um, hand with that?"

Castiel exhales in relief - guilt over what he'd done had slowly started seeping in, and he falters. But then he nods, says a sheepish, "Yes, Dean-" and falls back when Dean climbs on top of him and presses kiss after kiss against his lips. 

Castiel matches Dean's enthusiasm with his own, wraps his arms around the teen's body (hands groping from nape to thigh) and growls when Dean's ass settles on his lap. "Dean-" he says, taking the teen's face between his hands and holding his gaze, "what you do to me..." 

"Yeah," Dean breathes out, body trembling with anticipation, "me too." 

Castiel's heart soars at those words and he surges forward, attacks the boy's mouth. 

They make out for several seconds, all teeth and tongue and curious hands, body's grinding, then Dean exhales a breathy, "Fuck me, coach." And Castiel scrambles to his feet, hoisting Dean and throwing him onto the couch. 

He turns Dean around, bends him over the couch's seat, then spreads his cheeks, mouths at the delicate flesh, spears his hole with his tongue, and Dean groans, rears back, and begs for more.

But Castiel can't wait any longer. He pulls back, licks the boy's taste from his lips, leans over Dean's body, and whispers, "Patience..." Then lines himself up and presses his cock against Dean's pucker.

"Jesus-" Dean gasps, bracing himself when he feels Castiel's cock prod insistingly against his rim. "Do it." He says, because he wants it bad, but then Castiel thrusts in, and Dean cries out, tries to pull away.

Castiel cries out too; being inside Dean is everything he's ever imagined, and more. "Are you okay?" He asks, voice gravel rough, wrecked.

Dean grits his teeth against this agony: it's hell, it's heaven, the pain, exquisite. "Fuck...you're huge..." He groans and takes several deep breaths, wills his body to relax, to accept the intrusion. "Come on, m...move-" he pleads and pushes back, clenching around Castiel's length.

Castiel curses, slowly pulls out, digs his fingers into the soft flesh of Dean's ass, then slams back in, punching breathless little gasps from Dean with each snap of his hips. "Dean-" he grunts, cock pumping in and out of the boy's hole, it's tight and hot all around him, perfect. "I'm..." _'Not going to last'_ , goes unsaid. And how could he? His body has been ready to climax since Dean first appeared at his door. 

But he doesn't want this to end. Ever. So he holds out a little longer, keeps his pace steady, it's torture, it's ecstasy, then his rhythm slips, and he groans, warns Dean that he's about to cum, and tries to pull out, but Dean reaches around, and grabs onto him. "No..." Dean grunts, his hole greedy for more, "...cum, cum in me."

"Dean..." Castiel pants, "yesss-" he cries out, because it's more than he can take, and he spills, cock pulsing, filling Dean with his release.

...

They fall in a tangle of limbs afterwards, muscles achy, but in a good way.

"That..." Dean sighs, warm and sleepy against Castiel's neck, "...was friggin great."

Castiel smiles in return, wedges his thigh between the boy's legs and strokes his hair. "It was." He agrees, propping himself on one elbow to look at Dean. The teen's body is sun-kissed, peppered with freckles, still youth soft, but with the muscle definition that in adulthood, will only grow larger, firmer; Dean is beautiful now, but will only get better with age. 

Castiel sighs at that, a bit melancholy. Dean has his whole beautiful life ahead of him, while Castiel's is almost half over.

"Hey," Dean says, smooth brow furrowing. He can tell - just by the way Castiel is breathing - that something's wrong, "everything okay?" 

Castiel drops a kiss on Dean's forehead, "Not a thing." He lies, deciding for the moment that he's going to enjoy what they have (fleeting though it is) and treasure every second for as long as Dean let's him. 

"You sure?" Dean asks again, unconvinced, dreading this sudden shift in mood, means Castiel is about to tell him to leave. 

Castiel replies by kissing Dean again, on the cheek, jaw, lips, and when he feels the teen's body relax beneath him, runs a hand along his side, kneads the muscle of his thigh, and asks, "How does your thigh feel? I mean," he feels like an idiot for not bringing it up sooner, but his concern over Dean's injury is still at the forefront of his mind, "...did the massage help?"

Dean grins and his legs fall open; he's hard again, dick stiff, tempting. "Yeah," he says, stroking himself, "feels pretty damn good. Although," he bends his leg at the knee, dips his hand between his ass and starts fingering himself, "I think I could use some more of that 'miracle-balm' of yours."

Castiel chuckles, a soft happy sound, and adds his finger to the teen's hole; it's still loose and his finger slips in easily. "Dean..." He says heatedly, and kisses him. 

The kisses quickly grow aggressive, possessive, both men learning each other's mouths, their hands memorizing the other's body, then Dean pulls back, smirks, "You ready for round two?" And reaches for Castiel's cock, strokes it to full hardness. 

Castiel moans, thrusts into the boy's grip, and grows even harder, scoops more balm and rubs it against Dean's hole. They lock eyes, Castiel braces himself on his hands, hovers over Dean for a tense second, then slowly pushes in, both men groan, blissed and lust addled, but it's less frenzied this time, because Castiel means to draw this out, to make it last as long as possible, and treat them both to a slow and sensual fuck.

...

"Man," Dean gasps, still catching his breath, body covered in cum, "I can really get used to this." He grins, fingers mingling with his lover's semen. 

Castiel agrees, rubs his cum (warm, but tacky) into Dean's skin, marking him as his own. But the high of living out his fantasy, of shirking convention and indulging in his basest of desires, is fading; irreparable damage or not, he just violated this boy (several times) probably scarred him for life, too, and caused psychological trauma that will take several years worth of treatment to heal. "Dean, what I did to you...I'm sorr-"

Dean scrambles out from underneath Castiel, pissed, hurt. "N'ah, man. You don't get to fuck me then tell me it was a mistake." He pokes Castiel in the chest, warns, "This shit between us, is just the beginning. You and me," Dean surges forward, kisses his stunned lover, open mouth and filthy; he's a fast learner, "we're together now. Got it?" He laughs at Castiel's expression, but not unkindly. 

"Dude, don't worry. It's not like I'm posting it on Facebook, or telling anyone. Yet." He leans in for another kiss, gentler now that he's gotten all of that shit off his chest. "But as soon as I graduate and you're no longer my teacher or coach," he smirks, caresses Castiel's cheek, "all bets are off."

Castiel's chest swells with hope. But it's not realistic. "Dean," he sighs, morose, "that's not for another two years. I'm sure that by then, you will have moved on, found someone else. Someone your own age. You're young and inexperienced-"

"Cas-" Dean cuts Castiel off with a finger to his lips, a thumb across his cheek; it's up to Dean make sure this thing between them continues to grow. "Just shut up, okay?" Dean kisses him again, a soft press of lips. "I've wanted to be with you since..." He pauses, thinks for a second, "since the first time I saw you. And that's not about to change." Dean wags his finger in Castiel's face, kisses the tip if his nose, "You're mine now. And," another kiss, "I'm yours. Capisce?"

Castiel grins back, who's he to argue? "Capisce." 

"Good." Dean gets up, uses the attached bathroom, and when he's done, grabs his gym bag, and fishes for his cellphone.

"Hey," he says, smiling at whoever he just called, "yeah...I'm good. A little sore, but, ah, coach fixed me right up." Dean throws Castiel a wink, a kiss, gives his dick a tug and smirks when Castiel's eyes light up. "N'ah, Benny and I are about to eat right now. Of course I will. I know," he rolls his eyes, mimics, "I'll go to bed early 'cause it's a school night." Then laughs, but it's light, joyful. "Okay, love you too, mom."

He rejoins Castiel on the couch, snuggles up tight, kisses him until they're both breathless, then pouts when Castiel climbs out. 

Castiel also uses the bathroom, but instead of crawling back to Dean when he's finished, grabs their clothes, tosses Dean's his, and starts getting dressed. 

Dean's heart drops, he'd hoped they'd spend the night together, but apparently Castiel doesn't want to. 

"How do you feel about Italian?"

"Italian?"

Castiel grabs his keys, reaches for Dean and pulls him into his arms. "For dinner." He says, smile small but full of warmth. "With garlic bread?"

Dean's face breaks into a wide grin. "I friggin _love_ Italian." He puts great emphasis on the word 'love', then throws his arms around his lover's broad shoulders and laughs. 

They embrace, stare into each other's eyes for a ridiculously long time, share breaths, Dean whispers secrets against Castiel's lips, and Castiel inhales them, buries them deep inside himself, then shares a few of his own.

And that's when it hits Castiel, that _this_ \- Dean smiling, holding his hand, and making promises about their future as a 'couple' - is what makes the lunacy of what they've done, and will achieve together, all worthwhile. 

And to hell with the consequences.

**Author's Note:**

> Whew! I’m glad I finally got that out of my system.
> 
> I really enjoyed writing it (Dean/Castiel dynamic always delivers) and if you enjoyed reading it, let me know. Don’t be shy. I won’t bite. Unless you ask real pretty!  
> ;-)


End file.
